


Words Speak Louder

by Tangerine



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-25
Updated: 1999-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: This story was originally submitted as part of the 1999 Holiday Project.





	Words Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally submitted as part of the 1999 Holiday Project.

Warren Worthington stood at the window in his Soho apartment and stared at the streets below, still busy with activity despite the fact it was Christmas Eve. There were children with parents whining for last minute presents, couple arguing over the perfect gift or the apparent lack thereof, lonely people trying to pretend they had everyone in the world. 

'And people wonder why I absolutely hate Christmas,' Warren thought miserably, still waiting for Betsy to come home. He missed her dreadfully and wanted her to come back and cheer him up, to remind him this year would be different. No thoughts of 'let's reject Warren' or 'he'll be okay by himself.' This year it was just Warren and Betsy to face the demon of Christmas alone, no X-Men, nobody but themselves. 

Warren frowned deeply. It could only improve the holiday. 

"Will you cheer up?" Warren muttered to himself, pulling himself away from the window and flopping down on his couch, sprawling out on a pillow of wings, letting them curl around his body and comfort him. As was inevitable, he slipped off the couch and landed flat on his behind. He fidgeted for five minutes then grabbed a magazine and flipped through it aimlessly, looking at the pictures. "Happy people, how fake." 

Warren frowned when he realised he was being bitter again. 

"Some Angel I am," he muttered angrily, pulling at his feathers so they sat perfectly upon his wings, wonderfully preened and dashingly beautiful. "I can't even lighten up for five minutes. Christmas, come on Warren, think happy thoughts." 

He chewed his bottom lip as he tried to think of something uplifting, and it came to him quickly, his own angel, Psylocke. He smiled lazily, tapping his fingers on the glass coffee table. She made him happy, an immense happy that give him this sort of high that felt like he was floating even when his feet were planted firmly on the ground. He felt like he was floating now. They had their share of problems, some people already assumed they were already broken up, but in the quiet times, when the world wasn't being threatened and Betsy seemed like herself again and not the woman who had been fed to the Crimson Dawn, their love was beautifully breathtaking and as strong as the toughest diamond. The Dawn had saved her life, he realised that, he was just sad it had changed her so much. 

"I'm sad again. Ah!" Warren stood up and walked back to the window, looked for a minute then paced around his apartment restlessly. He heard the rattle of keys outside the door and ran to them like an eager puppy, throwing open the door. 

Elisabeth Braddock smirked when she saw her lover standing there, a half-crazed look in his eyes and a genuine happiness at her return. She laughed quietly, give him a quick kiss then squeezed into the apartment, dropping her bags on the floor. 

"I am so happy that you're back," Warren whispered in her ear, grabbing her from behind and wrapping his arms around her waist. She grinned when he kissed her neck, patting his arms lightly and giggling when he tickled her. "Did you have a nice time?" 

"Too many people for it to be truly enjoyable," she said quietly, bowing her head. Being a telepath, she had long ago grown used to constantly hearing people in her head, and at Christmas, when people tended to be more happy than usual, it was a treat. This year, after having shut off her telepathy to stop the Shadow King, it had seemed lonely, quiet, wrong. There had been hundreds of people, but they had all been silent. "How was your day? I see the tree is still naked." 

"I was waiting for you," he said, eyeing the evergreen they had lugged into the apartment yesterday, just the two of them battling sharp stings of pointed needles and an insane squirrel who had an unhealthy love for that particular tree. 

She smiled and kissed him again before sliding out of his arms and walking to their bedroom to change her clothes. Warren waited patiently for her return, going to the box of ornaments and looking through them. Betsy had them shipped over from England, disgusted that he had never had a tree of his own and thus no ornaments. He had never needed a tree. There was always one at the mansion in Westchester with its own decorations. Before the X-Men, he had always spent the Christmas along in his house, wondering what his parents were doing and why he was alone and unhappy and hating the holiday when all the other kids seemed to live for it. 

"Come on," Betsy said, crouching down beside him to open and picking up a glass angel. When Warren looked closer he realised that there seemed to be a theme with the ornaments, and Betsy laughed, hugging him tightly. "My family has an Angel fetish, it seems." 

"Does that include you?" 

Betsy smiled, her purple eyes twinkling with merriment. "So asks the Angel of the Braddock. Now, let us get this tree decorated before Christmas is over." 

They kept adding ornaments until they both stepped back, agreeing the tree was, without a doubt and understandable considering it was them who decorated it, perfect. 

Betsy made them both tea and put together a plate of Jean's cookies, meticulously decorated with an almost obsessive attention to detail. When she returned, Warren was sitting on the ground and looking at the tree with wonder. 

"You look happy, my love," she said, settling next to him and laying the food gently on the carpet. He turned to her and smiled, offering her a space to sit with him, against him. She rested contentedly again his chest, putting her hands on his strong legs. "I love you, Warren." 

"And I love you," he murmured in her ear, sweeping her hair away from her neck so he could kiss the long, slender length of flesh. They sat like that a for very long time, quietly musing about their life together and the happiness that resulted. "Can we open presents now?" 

Betsy grinned and chuckled lowly, nodding her head as Warren kissed her once before running off to the hiding spot, which was for once a truly hidden secret because her telepathy was gone, and Betsy removed her present for him from behind the books on the bookshelf, knowing the texts were only there for show and Warren rarely even looked at them. 

When he returned, they sat across from each other on the carpet and exchanged parcels. She smiled at the wrapping job, a touching application of Warren's less than deft ability to wrap a gift, but the point was he had done it himself. "Should I go first?" 

Warren nodded, biting his lip and watching her with dedicated attention. She pulled the tape from the paper carefully, always one to save and treasure anything from him, and parted the wrapping. She removed a book and turned it over to look at the cover, but it did not have a title. 

Carefully, her fingers rested on the front page, and she opened it, recognising immediately the delicate, perfect script of Warren's writing. Her eyes drifted down the page, the words causing tears to well in her eyes. 

"I know you're worried that because your telepathy is gone that you're not going to know what I'm thinking or how I feel," Warren said quietly, his heart breaking at the sight of his lover unhappy. "I've been writing in that journal every night and I'm going to continue writing in it. I'm not too great with speaking what I feel, but I know how to write it. Everything I think, feel, whatever, it's going in there, so you'll know and not feel so bad." 

Betsy threw her arms around his neck, kissing him all over his face, and he fell back, laughing sadly at the display. She bent and kissed him firmly on the lips then put her fingers to his mouth. "Thank you, Warren, this means more to me than I can describe. I want you to open my gift to you." 

Without moving, Betsy handed him the present he had dropped in her joy, still sitting across his hips, and he took it, ripping the paper away from the box. He removed the lid and looked inside, a smile lighting up his face. 

"You didn't ..." 

"I did," she confessed shyly as he removed the compact discs, reading the back and the inscription she had written on both. "It's like the journal. I know I've been distant these past few months, but I know how to show people what I'm feeling, not tell them, and I know you love my voice. My feelings, my fear and worries, they're in there, Warren. They're my favourite songs." 

"You're so shy about singing for me," he whispered, putting the CDs down on the ground and wrapping his arms across her back, holding her tightly to him. She cradled his head against her chest, refusing to let him go. "I've never been so happy as I am this very moment." 

"Neither have I," Betsy whispered. "Merry Christmas, Warren." 

"Merry Christmas, Betsy."


End file.
